


sic semper something

by weatheredlaw



Series: from this galaxy to the next [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mass Effect Fusion, Bigotry & Prejudice, Canon Typical Prejudice, Challenge: Fic a Day in May, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6754009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>C-Sec officer Church is always having a bad day. A rogue quarian in the markets doesn't help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sic semper something

**Author's Note:**

> another for the may challenge! something i've been playing with for a while~ enjoy :)

Church spends most of his time sitting behind a desk, refiling and redoing the paperwork someone else fucked up, probably on purpose. He’s not allowed to patrol because every time he does, he gets into a fist fight with a krogan, or shouts at some travelling diplomat, or insults the asari councilor. He doesn’t have “tact” or “grace” when it comes to what is, basically, police work. C-Sec is a stepping stone to bigger and better things. If he’d just apply himself, his captain says, then he’d be something great. Someone successful.

“Fuck that,” he mutters, and sifts through the datapads on his desk.

“Church.” A salarian officer, Simmons, sticks his head through the doorway. “Cap says you should head to the Upper Markets. Some quarian’s in a scuffle, might need to be brought in for questioning.”

“Huh?” Church never gets scuffle duty, or any kind of duty, for that matter. Simmons sighs, because he hates repeating himself.

“Go. To. The—”

“I fucking heard you, _Christ._ ” Church gets up and grabs his jacket and pistol, holstering it before shoving past Simmons on his way out. “Keep your fucking pants on.”

“Don’t _shoot_ anyone!”

“Yeah,” someone shouts after him. “Wouldn’t wanna be responsible for anymore wall damage.” Church shoulders himself against the laughter.

 _Fuck ‘em_ , he thinks. _Fuck ‘em all._

_  
_

* * *

_  
_

Church doesn’t get out much. He’s got his apartment, he’s got his desk, and that’s about it. He cooks for himself, he stays in — friends aren’t his forte, which is pretty obvious to anyone who tries to hold a conversation with him for longer than five minutes. So the wards aren’t exactly his favorite place to be. And the Upper Market is full of assholes who’ve bribed their way onto the Citadel, but C-Sec can’t be fucked to deal with them because all they’re doing is selling stupid shoes. Guns are one thing. Shoes — fuck shoes.

He hears the fighting before he even rounds the corner, though, and it takes about five seconds to realize that this quarian isn’t involved in a _scuffle_ — he’s being fucking assaulted.

“Why don’t you run back to your floating junkyard, rag?”

“My credit chit is _gone_ , did you take that, too?”

“Fucking scavengers, can’t buy anything of their own, were you the one who took—”

“ _Hey!_ ” Church flashes his C-Sec ID and breaks through the crowd. “What’s happening here?” No one says anything, and the quarian is backed against the wall, nearly on the ground, shaking. He glances around, breathing heavy, and Church, for a brief second, feels a pang of sympathy. “You.” He cuffs a salarian bystander on the neck. “What’s going on?”

“The quarian is disrupting business, it would appear.”

Church looks at the quarian in question — blue hood, elegantly patterned. Broad shoulders, tucked in, bright eyes flicking back and forth behind his helmet. “You steal anything?”

“N-no, I—”

“He’s a _liar._ He’s a fucking quarian—” Church holds up a hand, then extends it to the quarian. Carefully, he takes it and Church hefts him up. “This is an _outrage_ —”

“Is your credit chit missing? Let me see it.” Church turns to the human who’d accused the quarian, holding his hand out expectantly. The guy grumbles and walks off, and that forces the rest of the crowd to dissipate, leaving Church and the quarian alone. Church looks at him. “Are you injured? Any suit damage?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Good. You can’t just walk down here, you need to be careful.”

“I am looking for parts.”

“Parts for what?”

He shrugs. “Any parts. The flotilla always needs parts. I thought I could get a good price for them here, but then—” He glances toward one of the stalls. “It was not what I thought it would be.”

Church sighs. “Come on, then. Let’s get you out of here. Did anyone hurt you?”

“They did not. But I think they wanted to.”

“Uh, yeah. That was pretty obvious.” Church leads him into an elevator. “I need to see some ID, man. You got anything on you?”

“Hmm? Oh, _yes_! Yes, I do.” The quarian taps his omnitool, sends the information to Church.

“Jay’Caboose nar Lessa.” Church frowns. “What’s the _nar?_ ”

“Nar Lessa. Lessa is my ship. Was my ship. Could still be.” He frowns. “You can call me Caboose. Everyone calls me Caboose.”

“Okay.” Church looks around as they step out of the elevator. “I’m Officer Church. Come on, let’s go get you checked out.”

“What? Oh no, I am fine. I need to keep looking for parts.”

“Nuh-uh. You’re gonna get your ass kicked. Let’s get you checked out, and then let’s get you somewhere else.”

Caboose huffs. “But I need parts. I am on pilgrimage and I need—”

“I _get it._ ” Church pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I’ll make sure I get you somewhere that has _parts_ , okay?” There should be a salvage ship leaving that would take him for the right bribe. Not that Church has money, but he has information, which is just as good some days. “Come on, let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Not a single person cares that Church brings the quarian in for clearance – except for Simmons, who is immediately up his ass about the entire fucking thing.

“If he was bothering people, we’ll need to take statements—”

“He wasn’t _bothering_ anyone, _Dick._ ” Simmon’s face scrunches up and Caboose makes a startled, laughter-like sound behind his mask. “They were attacking him. I’m making sure he’s okay, double-checking his clearance, and getting him somewhere that has _parts._ ”

“Parts!” Caboose chirps happily.

“Yes,” Church says. “Parts.”

Simmons frowns. “Well it’s not _protocol_ —”

“Simmons, I swear to all that is holy, if you are in my space for another second, I’m gonna beat you with your own gun.”

“ _That’s_ unprofessional,” he says, but turns on his heel and returns to his own desk.

Church resists the urge to shove his entire fist into his mouth and _scream._

Caboose shifts in his chair. “Am I in trouble?”

“No.” Church sits across from him. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again. You’re sure you don’t have any suit damage?”

“Very sure. I would know.”

“Alright.” Church yanks a few datapads from their hiding place before he finds the right one and begins checking Caboose’s clearance. “You talked to a C-sec officer?”

“This morning, yes.”

“And he cleared you to shop in the wards.”

“She.”

Church looks up. “Huh?”

“ _She._ She cleared me to shop in the wards.”

“Oh.” Church looks at a few things and nods. “Sorry, force of habit.” He peers closer at the name of the officer who cleared the quarian and scowls. “Tex,” he mutters, and shakes his head.

“Yes! That is her name. Was her name. She was very helpful.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Caboose makes a noise. “Can I go now? I need parts—”

“I can get you on a salvage ship in an hour.” It’s probably six hours, but it doesn’t matter.

“Those are dirty. The parts here are clean.”

“Parts can _be_ cleaned.”

Caboose shakes his head. “No. I think I would like to stay here.” He punches in a few things on his omnitool and nods. “The best parts are here, and my new ship will need the best parts.”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“When I complete my pilgrimage,” the quarian explains. “I will go to a new ship, and I’ll give them the nice, clean parts, and the gift will be good enough so I get onto the ship.” He makes a noise under his helmet. “My gift has to be better than other gifts. I do not think a good ship is going to take me?”

“And why’s that?”

Caboose shrugs. “I am not so good at doing what I’m supposed to do. Sometimes my people…get mad at me. They don’t think I’m good enough.” He straightens in his chair. “So I _have_ to be good enough.”

Church blinks at him.

And even though this quarian is annoying (he can already tell), and even though he’s caused Church a whole lot of grief and paperwork for the day –

There’s something in that one sentence that…speaks to him.

_They don’t think you’re good enough._

_So you have to **be good enough.**_

“…Sir?”

Church looks down at his datapad, closing out the tab for the salvage shit departures.

“Come on,” he says. “I know where you can get new parts.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but let’s go quick, before I change my mind.”

 

* * *

 

They get the parts, and Church feels something sort of _bloom_ after helping this sad, lonely quarian do what he needs to do – so much that he takes him to Chora’s Den, and he buys him a drink.

“I can’t drink this.”

“Ah. Shit.”

The turian behind the bar huffs. “I told you that when you bought it.”

“Shut up, Grif.”

Grif folds his arms over his chest. “He’s dextro, like me.”

“Yeah, I _know_ that now. Thanks, captain idiot.”

Grif huffs. “Stop asking Sarge about my nicknames.”

“Didn’t have to.”

Grif nods toward Caboose. “You shouldn’t spend too much time around here. The only reason no one’s accused you of trying to rob them is because he’s with you.”

Caboose makes a happy noise. “I know! It’s great.”

“Right.” Grif closes out Church’s tab and moves down the bar.

Church takes another sip of his drink. “So which ship are you going to try and get on?”

“I’m…not sure. There are so _many_ , and I’m worried some won’t even look at my gift.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I agree!” Caboose says brightly. “But I am not too worried. I think the turian was right, though. You and I shouldn’t be here anymore.”

Church looks around and nods. “Yeah, you’re right.” He downs his drink and motions for Caboose to follow him. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

They walk along the open-air walk of the Citadel, heading toward the docking bay housing Caboose’s little ship.

“I’m glad you helped me.”

“Don’t mention it.” Church shoves his hands in his pockets. “ _Seriously_ , don’t mention it.”

“I will not.”

Church doesn’t believe him, but it’s fine. He feels…good. He’s glad he helped the guy out.

“Hey, I really hope your pilgrimage goes well.”

Caboose makes another one of his happy noises behind the helmet. “I really hope the rest of your life goes well.”

Church laughs. “Thanks.” He extends his hand. “Well.”

Caboose looks down, then makes a noise of surprise. “Oh! Oh, I know this custom.” He puts his hand in Church’s and shakes it vigorously. “It’s a very nice human thing. I like it.”

“Glad,” Church says, wincing and extracting his hand from Caboose’s grip. “Okay, get on out of here before you cause more trouble.”

“Of course!”

“And let me know when you’re coming back. I’ll…meet you down here. That way things are a little smoother.”

Caboose nods. “I appreciate that Officer Church. I am glad I met you.”

Church smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m glad I met you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> church - human  
> simmons - salarian  
> grif - turian  
> caboose - quarian


End file.
